Fennel Sharp

I remember
The wicker basket ceiling
Those flowers, those jealous galahs
Fanged foreheads turned toward
My ankles as I passed them by
Their necks outstretching the speed of light
                                
I remember
The fanlike leaves
Brushing my arm
Herbs sprouting from a black hole
I have a nuclear explosion in my left pocket
And a fennel in the right
Is that what makes spring days so hot?